


Good Is Better Than Perfect

by myladyriver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Protectiveness, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myladyriver/pseuds/myladyriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both left it unspoken, the enormity of what Bellatrix had just done. Throughout their tryst, neither woman had ever committed treason to their side, nor had they demanded it of the other. They had never gone further than deliberately avoiding each other in battle, and now, Bellatrix had suddenly thrown that all out the window. She had betrayed her Lord, warned Hermione of His plans, and had just vowed to keep her lover alive, against direct orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Place of No Religion

**Author's Note:**

> The main title, as well as all of the chapter titles, are from Regina Spektor's "A Man Of a Thousand Faces."

The sky was dark grey, blanketed by thick, rolling clouds that threatened rain. Having been to her fair share of funerals in the past years, Hermione held a black umbrella under one arm. She stood off to the side of the throng of mourners gathered around the gravesite, and so was surprised when a small, dark figure approached her through the heavy fog.

“You can’t be here,” Hermione said, her anxiety making her words sharper than she had intended them to be.

“Never been one for rule following,” Bellatrix sniffed, disdainfully tossing her coal colored curls.

“No, I _mean_ it, Bella, someone will _see_ you!” Hermione emphasized, her hands coming up to grip Bellatrix’s shoulders. “You need to leave,” she pleaded, frightened for her lover’s life.

“I needed to see you,” Bellatrix hissed. “I know how much I’m risking, coming here, so shut it and let me speak,” she snapped tersely, driven by an overwhelming sense of urgency. “I had to warn you, Hermione.” As she said this, she glanced over her shoulder, her voice dropping. It was the use of her first name, more than anything, that made Hermione realize the gravity of the situation.

“Bella, are you all right?” Hermione asked, all harshness gone from her voice, her words now filled solely with genuine worry. She slid one hand up Bella’s warm neck, her fingers skimming over her Azkaban tattoo as they made their way up to the older woman’s face. Hermione smoothed away the crease that had formed in between Bellatrix’s eyes before gently cupping Bella’s face in her hand, her fingers fitting along a smooth jawline. Bellatrix closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax into her young lover’s touch for the briefest of moments. When her charcoal eyes reopened, they were once again full of her impossible fire.

“Listen carefully,” Bellatrix said, her voice cold and clear. Hermione’s hazel eyes stared directly into her black, and she continued, satisfied that her words held the girl’s full attention.

“The Dark Lord has ordered a contingent of Death Eaters to attack Shell Cottage tonight. He doesn’t know that Potter is staying there -- he merely wants to cause distress and grief for your people. He does, however, believe that _you_ are spending a few days there, and has charged me with killing you. He wants you dead, and you have survived for far too long...He’s angry, Hermione. I have refrained from fighting you too many times. There’s no way around it any more.

“I must engage you in a duel...and you must lose. Rather, He must believe that to be the case. Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetling. You’ll put up a decent fight, get a few good hexes in there, but I’m too fast for you, and one of my Unforgivables will slip past your defenses. You will fall. And this is the important part: _Everyone, even your people, must believe that I killed you._ I’ll send an _Avada_ your way. But don’t worry, my pet, you’ll be perfectly all right. For whatever reason, I cannot endure the thought of your death, which is why I’m giving you _this_ ,” Bellatrix, pausing in her instruction for the first time. She thrust her closed fist toward Hermione, who hesitantly stretched out her hand to take whatever Bella was holding. Bellatrix dropped a unique piece of jewelry into Hermione’s waiting palm. Hermione recognized it instantly -- it was Bellatrix’s own necklace, a black leather cord with a silver, bird skull pendant. The young witch raised questioning eyes to the dark woman’s face.

“It will protect you,” Bellatrix promised her softly. “It’s an old Black family heirloom, imbued with powerful, ancient magic, granting the wearer...not quite invincibility, but it gives them a certain tendency to escape death. That, coupled with spells I added myself, will absorb the curses I throw at you. You’ll be safe. I swear it,” she explained. “Promise me you will tell _no one_ that you’ll live, of this plan. It’s the only way we’ll both survive,” Bellatrix demanded abruptly, her hand gripping Hermione’s upper arm tightly, her fingers digging into the girl’s flesh.

“I promise,” Hermione whispered. “Thank you,” she said simply, yet fervently. They both left it unspoken, the enormity of what Bellatrix had just done. Throughout their tryst, neither woman had ever committed treason to their side, nor had they demeaned that of the other. They had never gone further than deliberately avoiding each other in battle, and now, Bellatrix had suddenly thrown that all out the window. She had betrayed her Lord, warned Hermione of His plans, and had just vowed to keep her lover alive, against direct orders.

“Come home with me,” Hermione begged unexpectedly. “After tonight, I’ll have to disappear for awhile, and you’ll be safer if you genuinely do not know where I am. So just come with me, for whatever time we have now. Please.” A moment of silent passed, then Bellatrix nodded wordlessly. Hermione glanced furtively around, then slipped her hand into Bella’s. An instant later, there was a faint _crack_ and both witches disappeared.

Bellatrix forcefully pushed Hermione backward, until the younger woman’s back was pressed against the tile wall of Hermione’s shower. Bella’s lips captured Hermione’s in an ardent kiss that was tinged with a fiery desperation. Their bare bodies -- dripping with water from the steaming shower -- melded together, hip to hip, abdomen to abdomen, breasts to breasts. Bellatrix slipped her leg between Hermione’s parted thighs, dragging a low, pleading moan out from deep within Hermione. Bella’s mouth swallowed her lover’s sounds of pleasure, one of Hermione’s hands snaking around Bellatrix’s side to clutch at her scarred back. The other hand found the older woman’s breasts and began to massage Bella’s ample bosom, causing Bellatrix to arch her back into Hermione’s touch.

“Please, Bella,” Hermione whimpered, moving her lips to Bellatrix’s neck, sucking at the warm skin beneath her lips. “I need you,” she gasped. Whereas Bellatrix usually would have drawn out her teasing and tormented Hermione for much longer before finally giving Hermione’s body what it was screaming for, Bella’s hands immediately slipped between Hermione’s legs. She was not rough, but neither was she gentle, her powerful strokes soon leaving Hermione nearly unable to stand. With every thrust, every kiss, she was claiming Hermione as her own, acknowledging her protection of the younger woman in the only way she knew how. As Hermione’s orgasm started deep within her, she knew that something had shifted between her and Bellatrix. Somehow, the world was profoundly different than it had been when she’d awoken this morning.

“Mine,” Bellatrix growled, her lips at Hermione’s ear.

“Yours,” Hermione agreed, winding her arms around Bella’s neck for support. Though she did not yet fully understand it, she knew that today, she had exchanged vows of belonging and protection with Bellatrix. While they stood trembling in each other’s arms, wet and silent, Hermione and Bellatrix each felt the beginning of something long repressed come to life.

Bellatrix and Hermione stood in the younger woman’s bedroom, slowly putting each other back together, piece by piece. Hermione stood behind Bella wearing only old blue jeans, a cream colored bra, and an unbuttoned white blouse, carefully lacing up her lover’s black corset. Her hands slid down Bellatrix’s fabric-encased waist to rest on Bella’s hips, wondering when she’d next be able to touch her. Hermione’s hands grasped desperately at the woman who had chosen her over her Dark Lord. She leaned forward, her arms encircling Bella’s gracile waist as she rested her chin on Bellatrix’s shoulder.

“I have something for you,” she said softly, her face buried in Bellatrix’s soft, magically dried curls.

“You do?” Bella asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Like a present?”

“Something like that,” Hermione smiled, kissing her cheek.

“Don’t know if I’ve ever gotten one of those before,” Bellatrix mused; Hermione felt a pang at her words.

“Then I’m honored to be the first to give you one,” she replied, releasing Bellatrix for  a moment to go over to her dresser and retrieve a small wooden box. She handed it to Bella, who took it hesitantly, her dark eyes darting up to meet Hermione’s, who smiled encouragingly.

“My mum gave it to me when we got my Hogwarts letter,” she said quietly, smiling at the memory as Bellatrix slowly opened the box.

“‘Mione...” Bellatrix breathed, lightly stroking the glimmering pendant with one finger. In the box lay a necklace, a simple diamond teardrop hanging from a fine silver chain.

“It’s not an archaic family heirloom full of potent, mysterious magic, but I did store energy in the diamond. It will act as a ward, using the energy to protect you -- it won’t work if anyone else wears it. It won’t be able to stop a direct _Avada_ on its own, but it can strengthen a _Protego_ enough to block all of the Unforgivables. It will keep you alive. It can serve as an _Aresto Momentum_ if you fall, it acts as an _Impervius_ , and while you’re wearing the necklace, you won’t be susceptible to any harmful or corrupting potions,” Hermione explained. Bellatrix’s eyebrows were raised in disbelief, and she looked at the necklace with new admiration.

“That’s some pretty impressive magic, love,” Bellatrix commented, clearly impressed. Hermione’s eyes twinkled at the praise.

“I need you safe,” Hermione replied softly. Bellatrix lifted the necklace from it’s padded resting place inside the box, wordlessly offering it to Hermione, who took it from her. Hermione moved to stand behind Bellatrix once again, sweeping Bella’s thick hair over one shoulder so she could fasten the necklace around her slender neck.

“There,” she said once the necklace was in place, pressing her lips against Bella’s neck in a gentle kiss.

“Your turn,” Bellatrix said with lopsided grin, turning to face Hermione, who dropped her arms to her side in acquiescence. Bella’s dextrous fingers buttoned up Hermione’s blouse, though she took her time, her cool hands moving occasionally beneath the top and over Hermione’s warm skin. She left the top three buttons undone, exposing  a great deal more cleavage than Hermione was used to. When the younger witch was about to protest, Bellatrix held up a finger to stop her, smirking up at her. Bella grabbed the bird skull necklace she had given to Hermione from off the bed, and stretched up to clasp it around Hermione’s neck. With a tap of her wand, Bellatrix lengthened the black leather cord that the silver pendant hung from, so that the magically imbued pendant rested perfectly in the valley of Hermione’s breasts. Only then did she fasten another button on Hermione’s blouse, hiding the bird skull form sight, lest someone recognize it as Bellatrix’s.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Bella lifted her gaze from Hermione’s cleavage (albeit with some reluctance) and met Hermione’s eyes. Neither of them spoke for several minutes, the space between them heavy with uncertainty and confusing, unspoken feelings.

“How do you say goodbye to the person you owe your life to?” Hermione asked quietly, smiling ruefully. Bellatrix shook her head slowly, tossing her wild ebony tresses over her shoulder, but didn’t answer.

“When we duel tonight...Don’t hold back.”


	2. And I'm Crying For Things (That I Tell Others To Do Without Crying)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellatrix wished that her emotions could be solidified into something she could throttle. Something physical she could confront with her borrowed Gryffindor courage.

Bellatrix strode back and forth across the expansive, dimly lit living room of Malfoy Manor. Her long, unkempt black hair fell freely around her shoulders and cascaded down her back, whipping around her skeletal, yet voluptuous frame when she turned. She growled as she paced restlessly, angry sparks flying out of end of her wand, which she clutched in her right fist. Behind Bellatrix’s half-lidded eyes, she was besieged by the memories of her and Hermione’s duel, the brilliant flashes that had exploded from their wands racing through her mind. Bellatrix heard her own sing-song voice in her head, taunting Hermione, baiting her into a fight. She saw the defiant look in Hermione’s beguiling burnt sienna eyes, and her mangled heart twinged at the hate she had seen directed at her from such familiar orbs.

“She didn’t mean it, she was acting,” Bellatrix muttered to herself, wheeling around to storm back across the room. Her hand came up, unbidden, to grasp at the enchanted diamond necklace that hung around her throat. She ran the chain though her fingers, drawing solace from the only tangible proof she had that Hermione had ever shown her kindness.

Hermione had done as asked (commanded, pleaded, Bella was undecided), and had not held back when dueling Bellatrix, who was quite taken by her lover’s impressive skill in her attempts to kill. It was not in Bellatrix’s nature to be troubled by such admiration -- in her world, power and knowledge deserved -- _demanded_ \-- respect, even if demonstrated in such a personally threatening manner. Several times throughout the fighting, Bellatrix had known that she had come close to death, but Hermione’s necklace had acted in all the ways she’d said it would. Bella’s heart glowed with feelings that the witch had long since forgotten, and she furrowed her brow as she tried to place the foreign emotions, perplexed. The brightest feeling was at the surface, and Bellatrix believed that it stemmed from how proud of Hermione she was. She understood _that_ , at least somewhat, though she wasn’t used to this particular emotion making her feel quite this _content_.

Always one to keep pushing it, Bellatrix forced herself past the layer of obvious emotion. She struggled against the onslaught of barricades she herself had erected to guard her heart, which was now rusty from lack of use. Her findings bemused her. Bellatrix’s movements stilled as she focused her thoughts inward, though she’d hardly even noticed that she stopped pacing. There was something else there, something that eluded her frustrated, grasping fingers. It was something achingly tender and exceedingly strong; it burned her tongue and left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

It was some time later that the idea first wormed it’s way into Bella’s skull, and once there, it wouldn’t leave her already too-full consciousness alone. By now, she had gone all the way to the Before.

(Before her so-called husband, who had robbed her of her freedom and the pleasure of life. Before the Dark Lord, who had taken her innocence and conscience. Before her years in Azkaban, which had stolen what was was left of her mind, and replaced her own beliefs with her most torturous experiences and misplaced plans of revenge.)

In going back, Bellatrix found the two emotions she had most struggled with: love and guilt. Locked away in the Azkaban of her mind, it seemed to Bellatrix that they had laid in wait, scheming to sneak up on her when she least expected it. Bellatrix began pacing again, seething, her face contorted with fury and confusion. _Was_ this _the reason I’ve felt this strange connection with the girl, why she has such_ power _over me?_ Bellatrix wondered anxiously. A crease appeared between her eyes, which had widened in fear. _That filthy mudblood_ , she thought viciously, clenching her wand in her fist. _What has she done to me?_ Then, with abrupt calmness, she banished the idea that Hermione had placed her under some sort of spell or had slipped her Amortentia. _The necklace she gave me would make any potion or spell null and voice_ , Bella told herself with more confidence than she truly felt.

“ _The_ _necklace_ ,” Bellatrix hissed suddenly, gripping the offensive item and removing it with a violent yank. She threw it on the ground at her feet, eying it suspiciously. She waited in silence for an embarrassingly long stretch of time. Eventually, she sighed and bent to retrieve the necklace when her inexplicable feelings for Hermione hand’t lessened. With an uncharacteristic pang of shame, Bellatrix realized that she was being foolish. _Why in Merlin’s name would the poor girl want a twisted Death Eater who is old enough to be her mother to fall in love with her, anyway?_ Bellatrix scoffed disparagingly, though her thoughts were tinged with both sadness and a certain amount of...not acceptance, but perchance some level of resignation. She had recently taken to facing problems head on, and she attempted to employ this newly observed conceit in this situation. Bella unexpectedly erupted into laughter (still rather coarse and sharp, but more of a surprised, husky chuckle than her deranged, battle-cackle), her body relaxing slightly as she did so. _The little Gryffindor must be rubbing off on this old snake_ , she mused as she fastened Hermione’s necklace once again around her neck. Bellatrix found the the idea absurdly amusing.

Bellatrix wished that her emotions could be solidified into something she could throttle. Something physical she could confront with her borrowed Gryffindor courage. Bellatrix resumed her pacing, balefully wishing that she had something, or rather some _one_ , to distract her, someone upon which to let loose her most base, heinous desiderata. She spun on her heel, and as she turned to face the fireplace, the image of Hermione as Bellatrix had last seen her flashed before her eyes. Hermione, sprawled across the floor, limbs akimbo and fawn colored hair half obscuring her face. In death -- even simulated death -- she appeared younger, without the ever-present weight of the world pinching her expression. And suddenly, Bellatrix recognized that the thought of finding her release in sadistic maltreatment left her feeling distinctly sickened. _I caused that_ , Bellatrix thought, overcome with irrational guilt. Logically, she knew that she was protecting both herself and the young witch, but the picture of Hermione lying on the floor stuck with her,

“That’s _it_ ,” Bellatrix growled, already fed up with these emotions -- they were making her feel ill. _How do people_ deal _with this all the time?_ she wondered. _Is this what Hermione has to live with? Is this anything like what she feels?_ Bellatrix had absently wished that she could face the physical manifestation of her feelings, but she now realized that there actually was such a thing. She just had to _find_ the hazel-eyes witch.

“Hominem revelio,” Bellatrix whispered, holding her wand in between her body and the front door of Hermione’s parents’ house to keep it out of sigh of the muggle street. For once desiring to be discreet, Bellatrix had changed into black, form-fitting muggle pants (the sales woman had called them ‘jeans’), and a plain black hooded sweatshirt that went over nothing but a black lace bra. Everything about the clothes were unfamiliar to her -- in fact, the only garments she wore that were her own were her panties, socks, and boots. Even the bra was new, since Bellatrix’s corset dress didn’t require one.

Bellatrix glanced over her shoulder while she waited for the spell to finish sweeping the town house for the presence of people. She tugged at the hood in an effort to obscure more of her face, but the sheer volume of her raven curls that were stuffed into the hood made it a futile attempt. As Bellatrix turned back to the front door of Mr. and Mrs. Granger’s front door, she felt the whisper of her spell return to her. _Someone was in the house._ Gripping her wand tightly, Bellatrix cast a muttered ‘Alohamora,’ then stepped cautiously inside.

A soft _click_ indicated that the door had closed behind Bellatrix, who kept her wand clenched in her fist, but partially concealed at her side. She heard nobody on the ground floor, so she slowly made her way to the staircase. Bellatrix’s heart was hammering uncomfortably in her chest (she squirmed slightly, her bosom straining against the foreign feel of the bra); in fact, it was beating so loudly that she briefly wondered if she was experiencing the beginning of a heart attack. Dismissing the thought as ridiculous, she started her ascent up the stairs and hoped that the steps weren’t the type to creak noisily.

Hermione sighed and ran a hand through her waterlogged hair, which fell in gentle coils around her shoulders. It dripped down her back and neck, running in rivulets over her collar bone and in between her breasts. Giving herself one last appraising look in the mirror, Hermione wrapped herself tightly in a towel and stepped out of the bathroom. She walked slowly across her bedroom toward her chifferobe, too lost in thought to hear the quiet footsteps padding toward her room.

“Why is it that every time I come by unexpectedly, you’re somehow indisposed? Whether you’re screaming profanities, or half asleep, or more than half naked...” a low voice drawled from the doorway. Bellatrix smirked as Hermione whirled around to face her, the young woman’s hands flying to her chest in fright. Hermione’s eyes, which had moments ago been tired and of bereft of life, were alight with vim and undisguised elation. For a long moment, she could only stare, until Bella’s husky voice broke the silence,

“Not that I’m complaining,” Bellatrix added in a forced off-hand manner, her charcoal eyes softening to the color of dark chocolate. At last propelled into action, Hermione launched herself across the room and flung herself into Bellatrix’s arms, colliding with the smaller woman with enough forced to make them both rock back a little.

“Bella,” she breathed, her arms tightening around Bellatrix’s slim waist. Hermione buried her face in the juncture between Bellatrix’s neck and shoulder, her cheeks tickled by tousled dark curls. Bella’s arms slipped easily around Hermione, grinning openly now that her face was hidden from sight. As her hands ran down Hermione’s back, she became acutely aware that Hermione was entirely naked beneath the towel. Bellatrix slid one hand over Hermione’s bum before trailing her fingers down the back of Hermione’s thigh, which was warm and damp from her shower. Hermione moaned, her lips at Bellatrix’s neck, the sensual sound making Bella’s abdominal muscles clench desperately.

“It’s been entirely too long,” Bellatrix rasped, pulling back slightly to look into Hermione’s face. Her eyes were open and bright, her cheeks were flushed with warmth, and faint crinkles around her eyes sprung into existence when she smiled. _Very much alive_ , Bellatrix thought contentedly. Hermione made use of Bella’s momentary preoccupation to lean in and capture her full, red lips in a deeply erotic kiss that she hoped conveyed just how much she agreed with Bella’s statement. Bellatrix’s breath caught in her chest when Hermione’s lips brushed against hers with an almost reverent tenderness. _Fucking hell_... Bellatrix thought, left nearly incoherent by the feel of her young witch pressed up against her. _A simple kiss has never...aah...been so...overwhelming._ Bella’s emotions were still swirling chaotically around her busy mind, burning through her veins and making this kiss entirely different than any she’d shared with Hermione before. Bellatrix’s legs nearly gave out when Hermione’s tongue swept teasingly across her lower lip. Hermione ended the kiss a moment later, pulling back a bit, her hands finding purchase on Bellatrix’s shoulders to steady herself. Bella let out a strangled groan of displeasure at the loss of contact, prompting a lighthearted smile from Hermione, who placed a chaste kiss on Bellatrix’s forehead.

“Good God, woman!” Bellatrix croaked. She coughed, clearing her throat, her gaunt cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment. A bemused look crept into Hermione’s smiling eyes, and she stepped back further to take in Bellatrix’s unusual attire.

“What _are_ you wearing, Bellatrix?” she asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Er,” Bella started, unsure how to explain her muggle clothes. She glanced sheepishly up at Hermione,  half-heartedly plucking at the dark sweatshirt with slender fingers.

“Turn around,” Hermione commanded slowly, working to contain her surprise and her laughter. She couldn’t work out whether she was more amused or aroused at seeing Bellatrix -- the sexy corset queen -- in a pair of skin tight black jeans and a black hoodie. Uncharacteristically compliant, Bellatrix obliged, turning around to allow Hermione a proper look at what she was wearing.

“I had to ‘go muggle’ to find you; I hope you’re happy,” Bellatrix explained grumpily, scowling at the memory of the trial it had been to buy a simple outfit in the muggle world.

“Oh, I am,” Hermione promised, her voice deepening at the sight of Bellatrix’s arse perfectly encased in the fitted jeans. Bellatrix gazed curiously at at Hermione at the change in her tone, surprised.

“You like these clothes?” she asked, her tone colored with disbelief.

“More accurately...I like you _in_ these clothes,” Hermione replied with a coy smile, her eyes unabashedly tracing over all 5’2” of Bellatrix.

“They’re not very flattering,” Bella said, critically peering down at the large sweater that adorned her upper body.

“More comfy than that corset of yours, I’d bet,” Hermione returned knowingly. Bellatrix shrugged noncommittally, which Hermione knew to be a sign of begrudging agreement. “Besides, the form-fitting aspect of the jeans more than make up for the lack of it in the jumper.”

“Ah, so it’s the ‘jeans’ you like,” Bellatrix purred, her dark, wide eyes glittering with devilry.

“And if I do?” Hermione retorted with a sly, Cheshire Cat grin.

(Bellatrix’s breathing had become heavy by now. Hermione’s lips were tauntingly close to hers, and every nerve ending in her body demanded that she yank the stupid towel down and have her way with the tantalizing witch. The desperation to reacquaint herself with Hermione’s familiar body was overwhelming, but she was torn. Bellatrix knew she had gone searching for Hermione with the purpose of confronting her newly acknowledged feelings for the girl. As much as her body hummed for Hermione’s, Bellatrix was unsure that she would be able to have sex with her lover before sorting through these entirely confusing emotions. They made her head feel too full; it was difficult to concentrate.)

“Then I’ll be sure to wear them again for you,” Bellatrix promised teasingly. She leaned in to kiss Hermione soundly, and when the kiss ended, Bellatrix closed her eyes, her forehead resting against Hermione’s.

“We need to talk,” Bella whispered haltingly, reluctant and unsure of what she was supposed to say. So much of their relationship, their truce, had gone unspoken. A seemingly infinite number of unsaid agreements, promises, fears, and feelings hung between them. _What if voicing them aloud made Hermione realize...Made it all disappear?_


	3. Begins His Quiet Ascension, Without Anyone's Sturdy Instruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For her part, Bellatrix kept glancing over at Hermione through the straggles of charcoal curls that fell around her pale face, still working on convincing herself that she hadn’t killed her young lover. In fact, they were so preoccupied with being inconspicuous in their focus on each other that neither noticed the other’s attention.

“All right,” Hermione murmured, her mouth at Bellatrix’s ear, her warm breath swirling delightfully over Bella’s cool skin. “Can I get dressed first?” she asked impishly, pulling back from Bellatrix to look at her, eyebrow raised. Bellatrix chuckled at her...at Hermione’s request. _She_ did _say she was mine_...Bellatrix mused hopefully. _But my_ what _, exactly?_  

“No,” Bellatrix replied, jerking her chin up haughtily, though her playful dark eyes betrayed her mirth. Hermione huffed in mock annoyance, then pointed imperiously to her bed.

“Go, sit while I find something to wear,” she ordered, narrowing her milk chocolate eyes.

“My, my, _someone’s_ feelings bossy today,” Bellatrix tutted, meandering over to Hermione’s unmade bed with deliberate slowness. With her back to Bellatrix, Hermione grinned, good humor bubbling in her chest at Bellatrix’s mere presence. _My_ _God, this really is getting ridiculous_ , she thought to herself with a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. She pulled open her wardrobe, rifling through the drawers to find something suitable to wear, trying to distract herself from how nervous she actually was at the prospect of having what seemed like a serious conversation with her beloved Death Eater. _Beloved? Merlin, am I screwed._ Hermione sighed, pulling out a pair of her oldest blue jeans, a burgundy blouse, and underwear. Not at all concerned by her audience (let’s face it, she’s seen it all before), Hermione let the towel drop to the ground, and began getting dressed.

Bellatrix, for her part, was seated cross-legged on Hermione’s bed, quietly enjoying the show, nonplussed by Hermione’s lack of self-consciousness. She closed her mouth with an audible _snap_ when she realized it was rather obviously agape, just before Hermione turned to face her, now fully clothed. The younger witched frowned at the sight of Bellatrix still wearing her heavy hoodie; it was quite warm in her room.

“Aren’t you too hot in that?” Hermione asked, voicing her concern, gesturing at the jumper. Bellatrix glanced down in surprise at her sweatshirt.

“Am I supposed to take it off?” she asked, puzzled, wondering if there was some odd muggle tradition she was unaware of. Hermione perched on the bed beside her, her expression one of fond indulgence. Bellatrix speculated whether it was affection or amusement on the girl’s face, unsure if she should act affronted at being made fun of. She decided to let it go, whichever it was.

“Well,” Hermione began, “one _does_ usually removed their jumper or outerwear when inside,” she said, using her teaching voice. It made her ache for days when she would reprimand Harry and Ron about their studying habits. Purging her mind of such useless and dismal thoughts, Hermione slipped her hands under the hem of Bella’s sweatshirt with the intent of helping Bellatrix out of it. However, she stopped abruptly when her searching fingers were met with soft skin rather than the expected texture of shirt fabric. Bellatrix inhaled sharply at the sensation of Hermione’s elegant hands ghosting over her abdomen and hips.

“Erm, Bella?” Hermione queried, lifting her gaze to meet Bellatrix’s dilated eyes.

“Yeah?” the older woman asked breathlessly. Hermione raised her eyes to the ceiling, and took deep, steadying breaths. It really _had_ been entirely too long, and it took ever ounce of her willpower to keep her hands from continuing their path upward.

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?” she inquired. _Please, God, let her at least be wearing a bra_ , she begged, her eyes still focused heavenwards.

“Isn’t that what this is?” Bellatrix asked, confused, tugging on the hoodie.

“No, darling, this is a jumper, a sweater. It’s like a cloak, something you wear _over_ your robes, or in this case, a shirt,” Hermione explained patiently. Bellatrix smirked when she finally realized why her lover had turned her face upward.

“Oh,” Bellatrix stated simply. “Bugger. Idiotic muggle clothing shops, too many bloody choices,” she cursed, her brow creasing in irritation. She hated not excelling at something, even if it was something as trivial as muggle shopping.

“Language, Bella,” Hermione corrected mildly, finally looking back the vexed witch, having gotten her breathing under control. “And don’t bother about it, even muggles themselves get overwhelmed in their clothing stores.” Figuring it was better not to say that she ought to be much more intelligent than a muggle, Bellatrix chose to be comforted by the knowledge that muggles got mixed up by it all, too. _And in their own shops_ , she thought smugly.

Hermione frowned slightly in concentration as she swiftly pulled the sweatshirt off over Bellatrix’s head, her wrists brushing against (thankfully) bra-clad breasts in the process. Bellatrix started in surprise, a shiver trembling down her spine at Hermione’s touch. The younger woman let her eyes drift over Bellatrix’s torso -- her flawless, milky skin; her full bosom barely contained by the classy, black lace-and-silk bra; the ridges of her ribcage over the flat plane of her subtly muscled abdomen -- before practically jumping out of bed and turning back to her wardrobe. Desperate to get the alluring witch covered back up, lest she lose her chance to have this conversation with an unusually serious and communicative Bellatrix, Hermione quickly pulled out a stretchy, yet fitted black tank-top and tossed it Bellatrix. Bella’s wand hand shot out to snag the flying article of clothing as it sailed by, since Hermione’s aim had been more than a little off. Hermione raised an eyebrow questioningly at the surprising catch, and Bellatrix grinned.

“I was the Slytherin Seeker at Hogwarts for four years, before my parents arranged for me to marry Lestrange,” she explained as she looked curiously at the black garment, trying to figure out what to do with it. Hermione sighed at how clueless wizards and witches truly were when it came to the muggle world, no matter how logical something might be. Especially the Purebloods, she had noticed, not that she’d ever tell Bellatrix that. Though she practically had to sit on her hands to keep them off Bella’s deliciously exposed upper body, Hermione decided to let Bellatrix figure out how to put on the tank-top herself.

Ten minutes later (all throughout which, Bellatrix had alternated between eying Hermione and glaring murderously at the offending tank-top), Hermione led Bellatrix down  stairs for tea and conversation. As Hermione set about putting on the kettle, Bellatrix perched anxiously on one of the chairs around the kitchen table, running her wand between her bony fingers. Though both witches were acutely aware of each other, neither of them spoke. Hermione was facing away from Bellatrix, but she could sense the older woman’s presence. It felt like she had her back to a roaring fire, the way she could feel the warmth radiating off Bella. For her part, Bellatrix kept glancing over at Hermione through the straggles of charcoal curls that fell around her pale face, still working on convincing herself that she hadn’t killed her young lover. In fact, they were so preoccupied with being inconspicuous in their focus on each other that neither noticed the other’s attention.

“Here’s your tea, then,” Hermione said quietly, resting her hand on Bellatrix’s shoulder as she set down a steaming mug of tea on the table in front of her.

“Right,” Bellatrix rasped. “Thanks.” Setting her own mug of tea down, Hermione pulled up a chair beside Bellatrix and nervously lowered herself into it.


	4. And Smiles At the Moon Like He Knows Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an abrupt wave of sympathy, Hermione realized just how loudly and conflictingly the voices in Bella’s poor head must have been shouting for her to need to tell Hermione. And suddenly, none of the innumerable reasons that this was the worst idea since the Horcrux mattered, not next to Bellatrix’s confessions of torment and love.

“So,” she began carefully, “you said we needed to talk. Also, you managed to track me down -- how did you do that by the way? So you must’ve had a purpose.” Bellatrix chuckled into her tea, leaning back as comfortably as one could in a kitchen chair, and enjoyed Hermione’s slightly unfocused question and reasoning.

“Long story,” Bella replied, rolling her eyes. “Last place someone who’s hiding should go is _home_ , and besides, you’re not just hiding, your ‘dead,’ so you’d be pretty safe there since no one would really come looking. Besides, I reckoned that other than Hogwarts, this is the last place anyone took care of you. It took me awhile to see it, but the only place you’d go is here.” Hermione blinked in shock -- she hand’t realized how well Bellatrix knew her. She very much doubted that Harry or Ron, or anyone else for that matter, would be able to find her like Bella had. It was a rather lonely thought, yet strangely touching.

“Oh,” Hermione said in a small voice, looking down into her mug of tea. Bellatrix frowned, trying to figure out what she had said to upset Hermione. Uncertain, she settled for awkwardly patting Hermione’s knees for a moment. Increasingly confused, Hermione peered up into Bella’s pinched expression, wondering at the conflict swirling those dark, arcane eyes.

Bellatrix had no idea how to go about telling Hermione that she believed she was developing _feelings_ for her. Bella could barely make sense of what the chaos bouncing around in her head, what with all the perplexing guilt-love and the ecstasy-sorrow. How in Merlin’s name could she be expected to make Hermione understand and grasp the enormity of it all? So Bellatrix decided to tell Hermione everything she had thought and done that day that led her here. It was a long, arduous process (Bellatrix had a tendency to get off track quite often), but Hermione was exceedingly patient with her. As Bella haltingly told her of the initial concern and pride she’d felt, of the Before, and of what she had found underneath it all, the entire situation felt progressively surreal to Hermione. However, she could see how difficult it was for the older woman to confess all this, so she listened to her, soothed her when she could, waited for her to figure out how to word certain foreign feelings, and reflected on her own feelings toward Bellatrix.

When Bellatrix finished speaking, silence fell between the two women. Hermione was so wrapped up in her whirling thoughts and muddled emotions that it took her an uncharacteristically long time to pick up on Bellatrix’s state of mind. In fact, it wasn’t until Bellatrix -- who was anxiously fiddling with her wand -- accidentally singed Hermione’s blouse with errant green sparks. Hermione looked up, startled, to see Bella peeking guiltily out at her from behind tendrils of raven hair.

“Sorry,” Bellatrix mumbled, brushing tiny flakes of ash off Hermione’s upper chest.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you did that on purpose,” Hermione replied lightly, nodding at where Bell’s hand rested on the swell of her breast. Bellatrix flushed in embarrassment and quickly made to withdraw her hand, but Hermione’s fingers closed around her skinny wrist. Hermione sighed as Bellatrix lowered her forearm to the table, though she kept her hand on Bella’s wrist.

“Breathe, Bella,” she reminded, rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand. “You’ve just told me a great deal, some of it extraordinary and some of it terrible, but all of it deeply important. I just need time to think, to work through it all, okay?” Hermione brought Bella’s hand to her lips and kissed the cool skin tenderly, almost reverently, trying to reassure the insecure witch. And Bellatrix _was_ comforted, if only a little, but the care evident in the way Hermione spoke to and touched her, even after everything she’d just learned.

“Sure,” Bellatrix replied, more harshly than she’d intended. She was running out of ways to protect herself from the kind woman beside her, and that was absolutely terrifying. “Take your time,” she added, deliberately softening her tone. _Except don’t_. Hermione released Bellatrix’s hand with a small smile, then visibly retreated back into her deep thoughts. As silence settled in once more, Bellatrix shifted uncomfortably, though this time, she busied her trembling fingers with the necklace Hermione had given her, instead of her wand.

Hermione’s head was thrumming with the new information she was working to reconcile. _The things this woman had been through..._ Honestly, it was remarkable that Bellatrix could function at all. Hermione had come to terms with the fact that she had infuriatingly deep, romantic feelings for Bellatrix some months ago, but because of the strange nature of their relationship, and Bellatrix herself, she’d been forced to accept that the woman she was in love with was incapable of returning those feelings. Hermione rather doubted that anyone knew Bella quite as well as she did, with the possible exception of Narcissa. She understood that the abuse Bellatrix had suffered at the hands of so many (which had only fueled the darkness that plagued her mind) had severely crippled the older woman’s ability to acknowledge and express anything that made her feel weak, vulnerable -- namely, emotions. With an abrupt wave of sympathy, Hermione realized just how loudly and conflictingly the voices in Bella’s poor head must have been shouting for her to need to tell Hermione. And suddenly, none of the innumerable reasons that this was the worst idea since the Horcrux _mattered_ , not next to Bellatrix’s confessions of torment and love.

Bellatrix sighed and cast her dark eyes downward. _I was a fool to even wonder if a woman like her -- so pure of heart and full of life -- could ever truly care for someone like me. Dark, twisted, a cruel murderer, a merciless torturer, a damaged old woman_. She started, surprised by the tentative, soft fingertips that gently brushed against the frigid skin of her pale cheek. She allowed herself to relax into the simple caress of Hermione’s hand, which was now shaped to Bellatrix’s cheek, the warmth of the younger woman’s hand seeping into Bella’s skin.

“I missed you, too,” Hermione told her simply, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly as she smiled.

“You’re crying!” Bellatrix exclaimed, alarmed. “Did I do something wrong?” Bellatrix asked, sounding confused and stricken. Her dark eyes were full of guilt, and Hermione understood that the older woman did not trust herself yet.

Bellatrix outstretched a shaky hands up toward Hermione’s face, Bella’s expression deeply pained. The dark witch -- who had been so twisted and lost for so long only to find peace with her enemy -- held her breath as her fingertips lightly skimmed Hermione’s soft cheek, brushing away her tears with tender awe. Bellatrix’s fingertips danced across Hermione’s skin, down her cheek, across her forehead, and over her lips. Hermione let her hesitant counterpart explore her, holding back her shudder of emotion only with magnificent effort. Still, she was not made of stone, and and expression of both trust and pleasure flickered across her face when Bellatrix brought her other hand up to curl against Hermione’s neck. Where once Bellatrix would have scoffed at Hermione’s reaction to her proximity, she simply looked up at Hermione with curious eyes. _She looks so full of near childlike innocence,_ Hermione thought in sorrowful wonder as she gazed down at Bella. Her parted pink lips, open expression, and wide eyes removed years from her still beautiful face, and the single tendril of curled sable hair that hung in her face was reminiscent of a small child. _She’s so tiny_ , Hermione mused, affected by seeing the woman in a rare moment true vulnerability. _And so sad..._ Aware that her heart was pounding loudly in her chest at Bellatrix’s continued caresses, Hermione slowly reached for Bella’s hand -- the one that rested on her shoulder -- and took it in hers, placing it deliberately on her chest, directly over her thudding heart.

“See, Bella?” Hermione whispered after a moment. She was unsure exactly why she was speaking so softly, knowing only that this moment between them seemed to demand care and respect. She smiled reassuringly as she continued. “I’m all right.”


End file.
